Dream for Me
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: Into the Mystic tag: Dean promised him a future, but Sam isn't so sure Dean sees one for himself.


**Dream for Me**  
**K Hanna Korossy**

Dean wandered aimlessly through the halls of the bunker, trying to ignore the silence.

His first stop had been Sam's room, even if he hadn't consciously decided to look in on his brother. Sam hadn't been sleeping well, Dean knew—of course he knew—but tonight Sam was spread out on his stomach, face mashed into the pillow, sawing logs.

Dean found himself smiling at that at least. Sam was finally recovering from his reunion with Lucifer. Dean had seen the spark between the deaf hunter Eileen and his brother, and he'd caught sight of the retirement community brochure Sam had taken back to his room with him. If Dean knew his brother, it was in Sam's memory box now, a hope that one day they'd be two old-timers rocking on the same porch, swapping hunting stories and good memories. A hope Dean had given his brother.

A hope he wasn't sure he shared.

Dean quietly closed Sam's well-oiled door and moved on.

Time didn't mean much in the windowless bunker. On the road, they often hunted at night and slept by day, so the clock really only mattered for when the ME's office would be open and what was a decent time to visit witnesses. Dean had no clue what the hour was now, just that he should've been sleeping like Sam, and he wasn't.

He couldn't.

Rubbing wearily at the butterfly bandage on his forehead, Dean headed to the kitchen for coffee. Or something harder.

Cas had made the trip out to Oak Park Retirement Home to heal Dean, making an uncharacteristically sarcastic quip about being the angel on call—seriously, something was off about Cas these days, something Dean would worry about…later—because Dean had been in bad shape after the banshee's attack. It was still kind of amazing that his bashing his head against the wall over and over hadn't damaged something permanently. He had an idea that some experienced-hunter part of him had managed to lessen the banshee's influence, or else he was pretty sure he would've cracked his skull open by the time Sammy and Eileen stopped the bitch. Even so, his face had been puffy and sporting the darker colors of the rainbow, his stomach in constant revolt, and his balance shot by the time Cas arrived. Dean had asked the angel to leave the one little cut so Mildred wouldn't be freaked out by his quick recovery, but the pressure that threatened to squeeze his brain out like toothpaste was gone.

And still sleep eluded him.

Dean settled down at the kitchen table with glass and bottle. He poured himself two fingers, gulped it down, then poured two more.

_Follow your heart,_ Mildred had said.

Two days ago, that would have meant hunting and taking care of Sam, with an occasional piece of pie or roll in the hay thrown in. Now… _Pining, _Mildred had called it. Pining for Amara. And Dean couldn't deny it.

He poured another glass and raised it.

A voice spoke up behind him. "Save some for me."

00000

Sam wasn't sure what had woken him, but then he looked at his phone. Over six hours of sleep? That was indulgent for him; no wonder he was up.

But as he stepped out into the hall, smoothing down his jungle of hair—maybe Dean was right and it was time for a trim—he saw his brother's door open. And inside, the made but badly wrinkled bed, like someone had lain on top of the covers for hours, trying and failing to sleep.

Ah. Maybe that was what had really woken him.

Sam followed his instincts toward the kitchen. If he gravitated to the library, Dean did so to the kitchen. So typical of them: Sam feeding the brain, Dean the body. Although, he was guessing it wasn't food on Dean's mind this night—morning?

Dean was just raising a glass—probably not his first—his back to Sam, when Sam said mildly, "Save some for me."

There was no start of surprise; they were too aware of each other after so many years of hunting. Knowing where your partner was could save your life. Knowing where your brother was could save your sanity.

Dean slid the glass across the table, looking up only when Sam settled across from him. Sam made a face at the glass-sharing, but it wasn't like he didn't swipe sips of Dean's drinks all the time. He tossed the liquor back, and coughed a little at the burn.

"Are you starting early or going late?" Sam asked conversationally, not trying to pick a fight. He knew Dean would know he was worried about him.

His brother shrugged. "Does it matter?" Sam gave him a look Dean pretended not to understand. Instead, he got up to start a pot of coffee. "Looked like you were finally sleeping."

Sam rubbed the last of the drowsiness from his face, unsurprised that Dean had known about his insomnia. "Yeah. Don't think I even dreamed."

Dean glanced back at him, perfectly understanding this time. No Lucifer. But "good" was all he said.

Sam turned the empty glass in idle circles. "What about you? Cas healed you enough, right?"

"Yeah, no, head's fine. Well, fine as it ever is. Just restless, I guess. You want pancakes?"

Just Amara, Sam guessed. He'd seen Dean's moments of distraction, the way his brother looked cornered whenever The Darkness came up. Sam had been talking to Eileen, but he'd heard just enough of Dean's exchange with Mildred to know she thought he was longing for someone. And Dean was worried it was true. Idiot.

"Sam?"

"Uh, yeah. Pancakes sound good."

Dean made a satisfied noise and started digging things out of the refrigerator. It was his default mode when he felt overwhelmed: take care of Sam. His baseline. Sam had resented it for so many years, feeling offended for himself, feeling outrage for Dean, until he'd realized it was at least as much for Dean as for Sam.

Sam had once told Dean that he saw light at the end of their tunnel. Not hellfire, not death: a future. And that if Dean couldn't see it, Sam would just have to drag him along.

Somewhere along the way—the Trials, Gadreel, Dean's death and black eyes—Sam had lost sight of that light. He hadn't even realized it until they'd talked about retirement, and he'd been just as surprised to hear Dean planning on it as Dean seemed to be that Sam wasn't. Dean still saw a future for Sam.

"Think these strawberries of yours are about to go bad—how do strawberry pancakes sound?"

Sam smiled. "Sounds awesome."

He would just have to be the one who saw a future for Dean.

**The End**


End file.
